Alpha's Cruel Addiction

Ophelia prepared herself for the worst, but it wasn't enough. The attack devastated the dukedom. On the ground floor of her castle were injured men, moaning in agony from deep injuries that their werewolf blood couldn't heal fast enough. In front of her was a haunting landscape of despair mixed with the coppery tang of blood. Ophelia, burdened with the weight of her duties as Duchess, could barely move past each person without being sick to her stomach. In the corner, she saw Layla making quick work with paste, sweat dripping down her forehead, as Reagan attended to another wounded. Their magic must've been drained by now. Ophelia scanned the entire room, searching for her proud and powerful husband. Her eyes, filled with both grief and determination, couldn't help but take in the heartbreaking displaced that echoed pained cries and anguished pleas. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, and she swore she saw someone carrying out the deceased. "L-Luna…"

Ophelia wondered how they spotted her so easily. She knelt beside a wounded woman dressed in armor with her neck bandaged, sporting a black eye, and worse cuts on her body. With a gentle, trembling hand, she brushed the hair from the injured forehead.

"Y-you've worked hard," Ophelia softly reassured, presenting her with a smile. Her voice, a soft whisper amidst the chaos, yet, she had a feeling everyone heard her. Her heart ached when the woman weakly nodded and sighed in relief as Ophelia brought the thin white sheet higher up her body.

"Ophelia."

Ophelia didn't want to turn around and face the monster himself. Only one person would address her with such disappointment. Blood stained her hands as she rose to her height, but she wiped it on her gown.

In all of his glory, Killorn stood tall and brooding, his features marred with a deep frown. His large frame radiated an unyielding power, accentuated by veins popping from his neck and clenched jaw. His piercing eyes of smoldering embers blazed with frustration and concern. The weight of responsibility wasn't just on his shoulders, but hers.

"I-I couldn't just sit still and do n-nothing," Ophelia confessed in a hushed whisper, peering up at him when she itched to look at her feet in shame. Killorn narrowed his glare at her challenge. He had warned her to stay put, to prioritize her safety above all else. She continued not to listen, with a fire burning within, an unwavering determination to be with her people. She was compelled to defy her wishes, for the greater good. His fingers clenched tightly on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white.

"Come with me." Killorn snatched her wrist and pulled her up the stairs. "We'll fetch more supplies."

Ophelia willingly obliged with a hop to her steps, believing every word he said. Yet, her heart trembled with anxiety, for she saw the whitening of his knuckles.

Killorn leaned against his desk with a grim, stormy scowl. "I know, it should've been impossible for heat to gather for that long. Without a doubt, Reagan would want to study a drop of it, and the royal family would want more if they heard of this. Under no circumstances, should these bottles be put to use."

"T-then, I want to learn healing magic from Layla," Ophelia grumbled. "I-I know healers are very rare, and i-its difficult to master the s-spells, but I want to help everyone."

Killorn stared in silence. Beneath his anger, a flicker of admiration and love burned him. He recognized the strength she possessed and her resilience. Tucked and hidden behind her soft, innocent gaze. He understood her desire to help the helpless and connect with her people, even putting her safety at risk. This selflessness only irked him further. "Alpha?" came a hesitant knock from the door.

Killorn recognized him immediately. "Come in."

Beetle entered with slightly protruded canines. He blinked in confusion, as if unsure of why he came up here in the first place. "Uh, Reagan is a few steps behind me."

"Tell him to wait," Killorn deadpanned. Immediately, Killorn jolted and placed the basket back into the hidden storage, flipped the rug over, and pretended nothing was out of place. Except, Ophelia was still holding her bottle.

"Give it to me, Ophelia," Killorn commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Ophelia pulled the glass closer to her chest with a slight pout. "N-no—"

Furious, Killorn snatched it from her, but she yanked it back. Without pouring, the bottle tipped, splashing blood upon her chest. Low, menacing growls rumbled through the room, vibrating with hunger. An eerie glow cast upon her husband, whose canines drew out of his mouth. Amidst the candlelights, his eyes glowed and flickered, piercing straight into her. The intensity matched with an animalistic snarl from behind her. Raw and primal, Ophelia whimpered in fear, not sure where to step.

"K-Killorn?" Ophelia begged, quickly capping the bottle. Killorn tore off his shirt, throwing it at her feet. "Y-you're scaring me—"

Killorn lunged straight for her.

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